


Of Wolf and Man

by Airie



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Adventure, Coming of Age, Gen, Horror, Werewolf, legacy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-30
Updated: 2014-03-30
Packaged: 2018-01-17 13:53:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1390147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Airie/pseuds/Airie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Follows "My Youngest", this is the second of my Skyrim stories focusing on the children Caye and Farkas had. Otho, middle child, blacksmith's apprentice.</p><p>Based loosely on the "Ill Met By Moonlight" quest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Pure Morning

“Hilda, keep those knees bent! It’s all about your balance! Ilsa, stop staring at the ground, keep in motion, she almost had you pinned to the wall!” Vilkas roared, observing his twin daughters train.

Hilda was definitely like her mother; untamed. Ilsa on the other hand… he had no idea what to do with that girl. She loathed violence and avoided confrontation. Most of her days were spent at the temple, learning the secrets of healing from the priests. He didn’t fool himself; his less bold daughter is going to become a healer, to his and Aela’s avail. 

Hilda was likely to follow her parents’ footsteps… if she’d learn some discipline, that is. But they were just lasses, there was still time to make up their minds.

“Stop taunting your sister and finish her off!” He rashly reprimanded, as Hilda cornered her sibling and was now boasting about it.

If it weren’t for his broken leg, he’d march right in there and show them how it’s done. Alas, he had at least one more month of convalescence. Truth be told, he enjoyed this time of relaxation. He was in his mid-fifties. He was still a fine fighter, but his hair was getting whiter with each passing day. Still, it was better than having it fall out.

Suddenly, Ilsa sidestepped, her sister’s axe plunged into the stone wall. Ilsa seized opportunity, resting her short sword’s tip on Hilda’s shoulder. The fight was over. Hilda grunted, lowering her weapon. She spun around and stomped towards where her father was observing the training session. 

“Hey,” Vilkas halted her, just as she was about to enter the mead hall, “no one likes a sore loser. What do you say?”

His fiery daughter had a feral look on her face. Both his girls had fair, freckled skin, red hair and blue eyes. They took more from Aela than him, to which he had no complaints. Hilda’s hair was short and unkempt, Ilsa was proud of her pair of thick braids.

“Fine.” The older surrendered, walking back to the training yard. “Good fight!” She said, reaching out to shake Ilsa’s hand.

“Likewise.” The softer twin endured both her gaze and iron grip. “Same time tomorrow?”

“I don’t know. Won’t you be busy washing bandages in the temple?” Hilda taunted.

The two went about their daily routines, leaving their father to relax and enjoy the sunny morning.

“They grow up so fast, don’t they?” He heard a familiar voice above his head. A voice that always gave him shivers. His sister-in-law’s voice. 

“I was wondering when you’ll show up.” He sighed, as she sat opposite to him at the table. “What do you need?”

“Must I need something to enjoy such a nice day with my brother-in-law?” Caye smiled coldly.

Over twenty years of knowing each other, and they still enjoyed bickering. During those years the elf barely changed. She only gained some weight, being a mother of three, but was still petite.

“You’re free?” He asked surprised. The Dunmer was always busy with something. 

And she knew how to do business. As Harbinger, she took upon herself to manage Jorrvaskr like a business operation… With the Circle making sure she doesn’t forget what the Companions really stand for. She made sure everything, from mead to arrows, was always in stock. She was responsible for maintaining a steady number of whelps to train and experienced fighters to deploy if need arose. She also insisted they keep a reasonable number of horses ready for action. 

She had some shady operations on the side, but she kept them private. It was a mystery whether that elf slept at all. 

“I decided to take a day off and enjoy life a bit.” She replied. “And I have no one to talk to.” She added with a dramatic sigh. “Aela is out on a job, so is Farkas. I’m sorry, but you’re the only one I’ve got left.”

“And I can’t run away.” He shook his head, helplessly staring at his immobilized leg.

“No, you can’t.” Her black eyes also stared at the useless joint, but with cruel glee. “Would you fancy a game of cards?” She finally proposed with an innocent look.

“With you? No, thanks. I like my money right where it belongs; with me.” He declined with dignity.

“You’re just a sore loser.” She patronized him without a blink.

“And I’m pretty sure you cheat.” Vilkas took the gauntlet. 

“Care to prove such accusations?”

Before they could engage in another verbal fight, a courier dressed in Falkreath hold garb approached. The man was carrying a letter from the Jarl himself, employing the Companions to aid the people of Falkreath in hunting down a beast terrorizing the woods.

“We already sent someone to assist with catching an escaped criminal in Falkreath.” Caye said colorlessly, feeling her insides grow cold.

“Yes, you did.” The courier replied impatiently. “We hadn’t heard from him in over a week.”

\---

Otho observed his cousins train under their father’s supervision. An axe versus sword plus shield combo, this was going to be interesting. He favored warhammers himself. He loved a weapon with the proper oomph. 

“What are you staring at, laddie? If you’ve had enough of being my apprentice, you can go back to your mommy.” Eorlund’s harsh voice reminded him of his duty.

“Someone has to carry out the tradition of making Skyforge Steel, old man.” Otho replied patiently. 

The grumpy blacksmith grunted, telling him to work at the sharpening wheel. The lad obediently started sharpening weapons for the fighters. 

He was Eorlund’s apprentice for a few years now, and he was soon going to become an adult. He considered proving his mettle and becoming a Companion. A middle child, he was the only one to still live with his parents. Three years back Lanni, the oldest, left for the College. Last year Arno, his brother, ran away from home. Stole his mother’s horse and was gone without a word. Although, he suspected there was more to it.

The master of the Skyforge coughed, hammering a set of pauldrons. He was old indeed, almost eighty. But he refused to give into death or meekly turn senile, even though he lost his Fralia ten years ago and his brother Vignar about three years later.

People aged, but mother remained the same. Still fresh as a maiden, though seventy years older from father. Otho once asked how old do half-elves live. Although his life-giver was an educated woman, she couldn’t give a decent answer.

“Came to make sure your boy is doing good?” Gray Mane asked a sudden visitor to the Skyforge. It was mom.

“I am confident of his abilities, Eorlund, but I need him. It’s urgent.” Caye said, nodding at the lad. “It’s time for your trial, I’ll be your forebear.”

The blacksmith whistled, Otho was dumbfounded.

“Okay.” He finally said, regaining his cool.

Now did he notice ma was dressed in her travel attire. She usually wore modest, comfortable robes, mostly with hoods. Now, she was dressed in her favorite short belted green robes with pants, a matching set of boots and gloves made form strange, metallic leather. To top it all off, she wore her special golden circlet with emeralds. At her side was a short Akaviri sword made form Skyforge Steel, accompanied by a dagger of same metal.

“Gear up and meet me at the stables.” She said briefly, then bid Eorlund goodbye and was gone in a moment.

“You’re excused. Good luck laddie.”

\---

In a hurry, Otho entered Breezehome’s basement. There was unusual urgency in mother’s voice. He took off his grimy apron and clothes, and quickly got his favorite armor on; a variant of leather armor with pants, reinforced with steel scales and studs. His gauntlets and boots were plate, though. Aside from travel essentials, he took his favorite warhammer.

Just before leaving the basement, he caught a glimpse of one of the mannequins. There were two in the room, and one was stripped clean. It usually bore his father’s everyday armor; a set of old-fashioned steel with pauldrons and matching cuffed boots with gauntlets. To top it all off, there was a Nordic sword on a plaque next to the mannequin, but it was also absent.

The other mannequin was fully clad in father’s armor for special, heavy-duty assignments. It was complete ebony with a greatsword he had never seen elsewhere; made of dragon’s bone. Father and uncle kept boasting that the two of them once slain a dragon and had Eorlund craft them matching swords form its bones. Strangely, mother and aunt Aela always had sour looks on their faces whenever either of the twins retold their tale. 

He walked up the stairs. Before leaving, Otho took a bite of bread, washed it down with ale and was on his way to meet with mother.

\---

Caye stared up at the mountains in the far distance. Vilkas insisted she goes and takes a member of the family ‘not some whelp’. This was a good opportunity to test Otho as any.

“Mom?” She heard next to her. “I’m ready.”

Otho was so like his father. Calm and resilient, though also clever like her. His siblings underestimated him, and he liked it that way, always preoccupied with some piece of work.

“Let’s go, then. There’s a rampant beast to take care of in Falkreath.” She explained, as they passed the stables and walked down the road. Her pace was fast and steady.

“Understood.” He just said, making no comment on the fact, that they didn’t take horses, or that da had a job in Falkreath. It wasn’t because he wasn’t intelligent enough, he just didn’t see any point in dwelling on the subject, trusting mother’s judgment.

“First Riverwood, then we walk up the river all the way to Lake Ilinata.”

“Then we turn south and follow the road. Do you need me to take some of your burdens?” The son offered.

“I am not here as your mother, but as your Shield-Sister, as ridiculous as it sounds.” She reminded sternly. “Oh, hold on! You have soot all over your face, let me take care of that.” She said, reaching for a handkerchief.


	2. Fear of the Dark

They covered a large distance between noon and late in the evening as all Companions were skilled in marching without rest for hours. The plains soon turned into a whispering forest. As the sun was setting, they were past any settlements.

“I much more prefer the solace of my study.” Mother said briefly, swatting a mosquito dining on her neck.

“You’re getting soft, ma.” Otho noted calmly.

“I used to wipe your bottom, you do not talk to me like that, understood?” Caye reprimanded without raising her voice. 

Unwillingly, the youngster felt a chill down his spine. She was the parent he feared more. Dad was usually patient, though could yell louder than a roaring bull. But mom had something scary about her. And she had some wild imagination when making up proper punishment for her children. 

She sighed and gave up her futile fight against the bloodthirsty insects, letting them nibble on her as they please. She scrutinized her son with approval. He was tall, stronger built than his twin Arno. His hair was fashioned in a short mohawk, popular among both desert Redguards and Dunmer Ashlanders. All her children had the visible signs of being mixed bloods; their skin was lighter, more powder blue than gray. Their eyes were bright red, the whites clear. All three had jet-black hair. But most obviously, their ears were of half-elves; almost human-like, save for the pointed tips.

It was time to set up camp and rest. They camped away from the roads, behind a fallen-over three. They hadn’t been harassed by bandits or beasts on their way, but it was best play it safe.

“Ah, I could never understand why your aunt prefers this sort of life from a warm bed and clean clothes.” Caye complained, making herself comfortable on her bedroll.

“Perhaps it’s a matter of… running away?” He tried to joke. “Too many twins around could drive anyone insane.”

In the dark he could faintly see mother smile. It was a strange thing indeed. Father had a twin and the two of them had children in identical pairs. Was it an unbelievable coincidence, something in their blood, or the Gods’ particular joke? No one knew. Only Lanni grew up without a sister, but that wasn’t a happy memory. Caye was pregnant two times, twice with twins, but had only three children. The conclusion was obvious.

The stillness of the night was torn by a howl. It was louder and more sinister than of any wolf’s. Otho instinctively grabbed his weapon, trying to pin-point the exact location from which the howling came. Yet, it was as if the blood-curdling cry came from all directions.

“Do you think it’s something more than a wolf?” The lad asked, after the last echoes fainted.

Mother hadn’t said anything. He couldn’t see, but she tensed, her eyes were wide with primal fear.

“If we live to see tomorrow, then no.” She replied after a long pause.

“Who should keep watch first?” Her son asked. He didn’t eagerly offer himself like a whelp, or suggest she do it. He always knew who was in charge and how to adapt.

“I’ll go first and wake you up after midnight. We should reach Falkreath tomorrow night if we keep up the fast pace.”

She listened into the dark, but the cry hadn’t repeated itself. That sound was strangely familiar, and she was positive it was something more than just a lone wolf. The pine forest surrounding Falkreath had many dark secrets and dangerous residents, beasts being amongst the less lethal.

With sudden dread, she realized how silent the woods suddenly became. There was no hooting of an owl or buzzing of insects. The wildlife was as silent as if holding its breath, waiting for something terrible to happen.

She decided to hold on to her sword, the other hand saving for a spell. Whatever might jump out of the dark void was sure to have a weakness to fire. The small bonfire they were squatting near offered little comfort, instead exposing them to all the dangers the wilderness bore. 

She felt fear for her son’s life wash over her with cutting coldness, but it was pushed away by burning rage. This was her child, and she would fight for his life to the death. Giving birth to all her kids nearly killed her, she won’t let anyone or anything do them harm!

“Mom.” She heard Otho’s calm whisper. “It’s past midnight. Get some sleep.”

Caye was about to protest and assure she’s not sleepy, but in the distance a blood-curdling scream was heard. Both of them froze still. Otho was ready for anything, but waited for her order. Caye was analyzing the situation.

“It came south form here.” She quietly indicated, moving towards the mad shriek’s direction. “I’ll keep an eye out that direction. You get back-to-back with me in case something… someone tries to catch us by surprise.”

They spent the night on constant vigil, but no other sound was heard. Eventually, the forest night resumed its natural state. A bat flew over their camp, a cricket called out a potential mate. Neither of them dared to close their eyes for even a moment, feeling unnatural terror.

\---

Morning found Otho and Caye stiff from the cold and spending the entire night in uncomfortable positions. They rubbed their joints and got ready to head on.

“That scream came from where we’re heading.” Otho noted, covering the now barely glowing embers with ash and sand.

“We’ll be on out guard, then.”

They walked for less than five minutes, before stumbling upon a body. If ‘body’ can be an adequate description for a virtually minced shred of bones and flesh. Entrails and splashes of gore were all around, the moss and tree trunks around the gruesome scene were torn, marked with what could only be claws. But what claws could leave such deep and long marks?

“Strange…” the son calmly examined the area, managing not to empty his stomach. “Whoever this was, they were brutally murdered by some sort of beast, but it seems they hadn’t been eaten.”

“This might be the scourge the people of Falkreath have been plagued with.” Mother replied. She joined Otho in the examination.

“Bandit.” She finally spoke. “No doubt about it.”

“He might have been trying to sneak up on us, when…” He shook his shoulders.

“A possibility, but we have no proof to support this claim. I’m more interested where that… thing went.”

“And why hadn’t it paid us a visit.” He added.

He took a step back to properly asses the bloody lump of meat that was previously a person, but stumbled upon a root. He managed to regain balance, and that was when he noticed a trail, heading towards a foot of a rocky run. 

“Mother…” He called out for her.

“Yes… oh.” Caye noticed them as well.

Those were prints of a large animal. They were deep, suggesting the creature was large, but they didn’t match the wide, round prints of a bear. They were longer, strangely… human. But neither man nor mer could have claws like those. Was it a Khajiit? Possibly, but what huge Khajiit would that be!

There was one word on the tip of Caye’s tongue, but she dared not speak it out loud.

“What a putrid smell!” She finally grunted, covering her mouth and nose. “Let’s get going, we have no time to waste!”

They left the body to rot or be eaten by scavengers. Otho was alert, but calm. Caye was tense, but showed no signs of her anxiety. That howl… It was all too familiar. And the way the unfortunate outlaw was killed. Finally, those footprints.

Azura, there was a werewolf on the loose! In this terrain, the two of them were defenseless against it! They had to get to Falkreath as fast as they could, she needed some answers. Stars and Moons, she hoped Farkas hadn’t run into that thing!

Although in a hurry, she allowed only for a short rest to eat and drink form a nearby stream. She tried not to be paranoid, but she sensed a pair of predatory, blood-shot eyes observing them with primal malice.

She shook her head and ordered her son to get moving.

\---

There was a scent in the air. The scent of elven sweat and pheromones.

The monster’s nose faced the wind, catching a deep whiff of the smell. Healthy Dunmer female with blood chilled with fear. It smelled good… arousing. Good for a mate. Or a snack.

Running rampant through the pine woods, the beast rushed into a clearing with a shallow pond. It roared, falling knee deep into cold water, which immediately bloomed red form the blood sunk deep into its dark fur. The creature grunted, looking down at its reflection in the crimson surface. It saw a feral maw of a werewolf with teeth still bearing shreds of skin and flesh.

Wait… this animal head… this wasn’t his. No, not anymore. Ever since a long time this wasn’t him. For a second man took over the beast. What was his name? Who was he? How did he get here?

He faintly remembered ripping apart a highwayman heading towards a campsite from which the disturbing elven scent was radiating. He acted instinctively, but didn’t know why. That smell… it was a good smell. He wanted it safe. He wanted it for himself. 

But why?

He roared, slamming his clawed fists against the now murky water. A deer passed by, but as it saw him, it fled. Good, meat. He needed to feed. He dashed out of the pond and pursued the deer, feeling the thrill of the hunt fill his head. The beast took over once again.


	3. Getting Away With Murder

They arrived to the sleepy town around the time the shops closed. It was unwise to enter the Jarl’s longhouse this late, so they turned to the inn. With relief, Otho sat down at the counter with ma.

“You seem to be having a slow season.” Caye made seemingly irrelevant comment when the innkeeper brought them their food.

“Haven’t you heard?” The Imperial woman asked. “The roads are dangerous to travel!” 

The Dunmer noted with approval that the innkeeper hadn’t stared at her and her son, trying to guess what race the father of her child was. Many racist bastards did so, later suffering her anger. Caye wasn’t vengeful or violent, but when it came to her children the gloves were off.

“We are fortunate, then!” The elf exhaled with false relief. 

“Ah!” Now did the Imperial notice a wolf head ornament on Caye’s belt. “You are Companions!”

“I am. The lad still needs to prove himself.” The Dark Elf replied calmly. Otho hadn’t protested. “Now, if there’s any knowledge you could share to aid us in our task…”

She needn’t say more. The innkeeper’s tongue flapped and flapped for long moments, before she paused for a chug of wine.

From her story the two could piece together the basic facts; some time ago a lumber worker suddenly went mad and murdered a little girl. Although he was imprisoned in the guard barracks, he somehow managed to escape. Immediately, a Companion was assigned to track him down. 

Shortly later, a beast or monster, perhaps both, began terrorizing the woods. Whatever it was, killed most of the Jarl’s deer, and even people. So far, the monster claimed a group of bandits, a courier and two guardsmen. People were afraid to leave their homes after dark, patrols around the city walls were increased. The Jarl refused to put a bounty over the beast’s head to avoid more casualties. Instead, he decided to turn to the Companions for help once more.

Speaking of which, neither the assigned fighter, nor the escapee he was supposed to track, have been heard from.

“Rest assured, sera, we’ll go to the Jarl first thing tomorrow.” Caye assured in a business-like tone.

“Thank you.” the Imperial wiped her hands in her dirty apron. “I’m sure you two are weary from the road, let me show you to your room.”

\---

“What are your thoughts?” Mother asked through the screen. 

The room they were staying at had two small beds with a privacy screen stretched between them. They ordered soap, washcloths and buckets with hot water to groom themselves.

“I think there’s a werewolf going rampant.” He replied, scrubbing himself energetically.

“Why?” She asked, brushing her hair, staring mindlessly at the wall.

“That howl wasn’t an animal’s. The footprints weren’t of man, mer or beastfolk. A werebear would have rounder prints.” He enumerated drily. “I just can’t understand why it hadn’t tried to kill us in the night. I fear…” he went silent.

“What do you fear, dear?”

“I fear it spared us, because it wants to play a bit.” He voiced his concern.

Caye minced her comfortable nightshirt. Yes, she also considered that option. Against her will, she went back to that brief time she was a Moonbeast herself. She remembered the thrill and almost… lewd pleasure from stalking her prey.

“I’m worried about dad.” Otho broke the silence, wiping himself dry.

“So am I.” She confessed.

Farkas wasn’t a young man anymore. He was a skilled fighter, but against a werewolf… She clenched her fists on her laps. They needed rest to have their minds clear for tomorrow!

“The circumstances are too closely related to be coincidental. Whatever happened to your father, I’m sure we’ll find out as we investigate this beast business.” She said with confidence, trying to hide how worried she was. “Now, go to sleep.”

“Can I get a story?” Her son joked, laying down on his bed.

“Once upon a time you better go to sleep, before I bend you over my knee.”

\---

“And the child’s family?” Caye inquired.

“There’s nothing new to be learned from them.” The Jarl’s steward said. “That man, Sinding, came to town looking for work. He was a model worker, hadn’t drank on or off the job, neither did he fancy brawls of wenches. He kept mostly to himself. And suddenly, he killed that little girl.” The steward shook his head.

“How did he do it?” Otho asked. Mother gave him a sharp look, but nodded with approval.

“He… tore her apart. It was as if he wasn’t himself. He ripped her throat with his teeth, and then… gnawed at her. The priest from the Hall of the Dead could give you more details.”

“Those won’t be needed. How did Sinding escape?”

“That remains a mystery. The hole we had him locked up in is a deep shaft in the ground. The walls are stone, the entrance goes through the barracks. The only other exit is by climbing the walls, but those are solid stone.

“I’d like to see that cell.” She requested.

“I’ll tell the guards to expect you.”

\---

“And?” She asked her son’s opinion.

“Nothing I can see here.” Otho examined the perfectly flat walls of the round cell. “Wait…” He muttered, looking up. “I think I see something a bit up, but it’s too dark.” He squinted, staring above the light cast by the torches.

Caye smiled with approval, clenching her fist. She focused and released an orb of light which fluttered up the shaft. The sphere illuminated the walls above, exposing deep cuts in the stone.

“He must have leapt really high, then kicked off the walls and that’s how he got out. But…” The lad rubbed his chin. “Men don’t jump that high. And they don’t posses claws that would leave rows in solid stone. I’m stating the obvious, mother, but we both know that Sinding is a werewolf.”

“Yes. The way he killed that child speaks for itself.”

“Do you think he killed father?” 

She inhaled deeply. Yes, that possibility kept her up late in the night.

“Do you see your father’s lifeless body anywhere?” She finally asked through clenched teeth.

“No.” Otho answered briefly.

“Then I refuse to think that.”

“And so do I.” He assured, angry at himself for voicing such a stupid concern.

“Good.” Caye turned to leave the cell.

Just as they left the barracks, there was commotion on the main road.

“Gods, help!” A shaken man cried. “A monster is on the loose!”

“Calm down!” A guardsman ordered, approaching him. “What happened?”

“I was travelling the west road, when I was attacked by a monster!” The traveler rasped. “I’m only standing here, because it took more interested in my horse than me!”

“Where did it attack you exactly?” Caye demanded, stepping forward. Her usually measured voice was strong and clear.

“Near the ruins of a collapsed tower!” The man said, slowly calming down. “But don’t you go there alone, ma’am!” He cried after her, when Caye marched towards the town’s gate.

“No worries, I got her back!” Otho assured, running to catch up with her.

\---

“Are we being hasty?” He doubted, following ma’s swift sprint.

“We have no idea when will it strike next and whose life it will take! We have to get to it now, when it’s still fed and lazy from feasting on the horse!” She refuted.

They ran through the forest with speed natural for elves. The day was warm and still, they could smell blood and entrails before seeing the dead animal. The horse had its belly torn open, a string of intestine stretched from the abdomen all the way to the tip of the tail. First flies buzzed lazily over the dead eyes, paying no mind to the beast feasting above.

The werewolf stood on the horse’s side, the saddle was ripped off and laid a few yards away. The monster supported its front limbs on the ground, sinking its head into the equine’s belly. Muffled grunts came from within, forcing the carcass to swell and shrink in short intervals.

“Ma…?” Otho doubted, when the two of them halted about ten meters from the gruesome scene.

“Shh.” Caye hushed, reaching for her sword.

The wind blew in their backs. The werewolf went still, head remaining in the horse’s insides. It then pulled itself back slowly, and sniffed the air. It snarled, shaking its head, catching their scent. As it outstretched its neck towards the two, it gnashed its bloodied teeth and growled. Bloodshot eyes stared at them, the monster’s front limbs dug in the ground now soft from the blood and intestines.

“Back away slowly.” The Harbinger quietly instructed, conjuring a spell in her free hand. “They can leap over great distances. Don’t get pounced, once it gets you on the ground you’re done for.”

The beast kept glaring, deciding whether to attack or flee. After a moment that seemed like forever, it kicked off the horse’s half-eaten remains and with a roar dashed towards them.

Otho sidestepped, but he didn’t account for the werewolf’s disproportionally long limbs. He was pushed back and hit his head against a tree. Caye managed to dodge a wide slash of the clawed paw, warding herself with her blade. 

Their eyes met; black void against burning red. The beast’s maw crinkled, drool and blood dripped down its deadly jaws. Gods, it stank! The Dunmer forced herself to control her stomach and kept in motion, she couldn’t let it get too close.

Sunlight slipped through the branches and glimmered, reflected by a trinket the monster wore on a long chain pulled over the neck. It was a simple steel ring with woven carving typical for Nordic style. Caye went stiff, recognizing that ring made of Skyforge Steel. She had an exact copy on a chain herself. 

“No…” was all she could say.

Now did the moonbeast’s features dawn upon her with full recognition. The color of the fur, the irises on the red whites; icy-gray. And the darker patches of fur around the eyes, mimicking war paint. Her spell died from lack of focus, she couldn’t piece this together. How?! He got his blood and soul clean years ago!!

But he didn’t recognize her, the beast within was too strong. Caye was too shocked to react fast enough; the werewolf used her stun to its advantage and pounced on her, pinning to the ground. She was competent enough to keep a grip on her sword; the flawless blade pressed against his throat before he could rip her own throat open.

Her hand shook when the ring rested on her chest. A drop of disgusting bile dripped on her cheek, smudging her war paint. With the corner of her eye she noticed one of the clawed fingers had another ring on it; iron with a wolf-head ornament.

“Farkas… wake up!” She shuttered. “Don’t make me do this.”

Perhaps desperation made her imagine things, but she could have sworn she saw a spark of recognition in his eyes. It was just a spark though, the wolf took over. It was him or her now.

Otho shook his head, stars he saw at the back of his head dispersed, leaving a numbing headache. He opened his eyes and gasped. Mother! That damned thing was about to kill her! 

“Ma!” He yelled, fear for her life gave him a sudden boost of vigor.

His warhammer was thankfully nearby. He grasped the handle, hoisting himself up. He ran just a few meters, but it felt as if he ran the length of Jorrvaskr. He took a powerful swing, his upper body twisted, whilst his legs got a firm stand. 

Caye screamed when the werewolf was struck just below the temple. Impact from the blow forced it off its would-be victim. It rolled a few meters, before stopping on the very horse it was devouring just moments ago.

“Come on!” The half-elf dared, getting between it and his mother. He was ready to bludgeon that mutt to death.

“Otho!!” Caye screamed, grabbing his waist form behind. “Stop it!”

“Sinding is not getting away, he could have killed father!”

“That is your father!” She cried, grasping him tighter.

Both the lad and the moonbeast went numb. The beast took a step back, hunching its shoulders. It seemed as if it regained some of its resolve. It bent its head back and howled, conjuring a shiver down their spines. That feral cry was exactly like the one they heard deep in the night on their way to Falkreath. 

His lungs were completely empty, the cry was cut abruptly. Farkas turned and ran into the wilderness. Neither of them pursued. She felt complete lack of control over herself and slid to the ground. Otho helped Caye up, she looked away, avoiding his gaze.

“Ask your questions.” She said colorlessly, staring where her husband disappeared in the woods.

\---

Now did he know why that female scent seemed so familiar. It was her scent. Her… Caye, his wife. The pup with her… Otho, his son. His own name escaped somewhere in the tide of red. He ran as far away from them a possible, marking the trees he ran pass. He didn’t want to hurt them. He didn’t want them to see him like this.

The ring kept bouncing off his chest chaotically. The one he was forced to wear on his finger shone with hidden power.


	4. Through Fire and Flames

“Dad used to be a werewolf?” Otho rubbed his temples. “I can’t believe it.”

“Neither could I when I learned… But that was a very long time ago, before we got married.” Mother replied, examining the paw prints leading deep into the woods. She frowned, remembering the incident at Dustman’s Cairn.

“So, that means uncle Vilkas is also a werewolf?” Otho was a sharp one.

“Used to. They decided they didn’t want to join Hircine after death. So, they got themselves clean. I won’t go into details.”

“Aunt Aela is a werewolf, isn’t she?” Her son deduced. 

“Yes. She is one with her beast. The beastblood ran deep in the Circle, she’s the only one to carry it now.”

“And you, mom?”

“Me?” She halted. “I… I had the blood for a short time. It was a difficult trial for me. Finally, I couldn’t take it anymore and I purified myself as well. I couldn’t afford having a wolf under my skin.”

“Then, why did you take it in the first place?” The whelp questioned further, ignoring her sudden grimace.

She clenched her fists. That was a long time ago. She was approached by Aela and Skjor with their offer. She did some quick calculations, and though every fiber of her screamed ‘no!’, she took the blood. Why? Because she had certain plans for a certain party held by the Thalmor. The hostess, to be more precise. No one would associate the unassuming Dunmer guest with a werewolf that wrecked havoc in the embassy. The wolf skin was a perfect disguise. A wonderful tool. 

But the price was too great. Her mind was her alone. Keeping the beast at bay dulled her wits, perverted her personality. She was never violent or abrupt, lycanthropy changed that. She couldn’t recognize herself. She wasn’t… her.

A burned witch head and a fight with a spectral wolf later, she was free. She could finally sleep peacefully, relax, think clear. Though for the rest of her life she would feel an unpleasant itch when wearing silver jewelry. 

“Do not test me.” She cut the conversation short.

“Sorry.” Otho gave up. If mother didn’t want to talk about something, there was no force in this world to make her. “But, ma?” He dared to ask one final question.

“Yes?” Caye sighed tiredly.

“Were da and uncle born into lycanthropy or did they receive the blood later?”

That was an astute question. But there was no way of answering it. The twins were orphans. The general story was that a man named Jergen left the two at Jorrvaskr and went to fight in the Great War. He never came back. Whether he was their father was up to debate. Who was their mother? No one knew.

The two grew up surrounded by the most able fighters in all of Skyrim. It was no surprise they became Companions at an early age and advanced up to the ranks of the Circle. They generally never inquired about their supposed father, they had Kodlak, Vignar and Skjor. A mother? The warrioresses, though most would sooner die than give up their independence, took turns in looking after the pups. And there was always Thilma.

They weren’t entirely indifferent, though. Vilkas abruptly dismissed any relations to Jergen. His proud nature would never allow him to long for an absent father figure. And Farkas… He never discussed the matter, not wanting to arouse his brother’s anger, but it was clear he believed the man was their father.

Was Jergen a werewolf himself? No one knew, the twins never asked. Anyone who could confirm the theory was long dead. 

“What are we going to do once we find him?” Otho voiced the dreaded question. “Ma… I know this is difficult, but if da can’t control himself, we might have to use force.”

“I know.” Caye sighed. “Otho, if it’s you or him… Don’t hesitate.”

“We’re talking about killing my father.”

“He’ll snap out of it at some point, the beastform is not permanent. And when he does, the knowledge he killed you or me would break him.” She said gravely. “But that’s last resort. We have to stay together and be on our guard. His senses of smell and hearing are now sharper than ever.”

“Alright.”

Caye swallowed. Of their two sons Otho had a deep connection with his father. Arno was too independent and solitary, neither of his parents actually knew the child. A year ago she found out his true aspirations were that of herself at his age – thieving. It broke her heart, seeing her child succumbing to a life of crime. If Farkas would find out his heart would break much harder. So, she did the only thing she could – kicked Arno out of the house and ordered to pursue his fate in Riften.

Otho was so similar to his father. Quiet, calm, resilient. Bluntly honest and loyal. Although he had his mother’s analytical mind, he and his father were very close. They needn’t many words to tighten their bond.

Would Otho have the strength to swing that warhammer at Farkas if things would get too dangerous? No, this was a hypothetical situation, not worthy of consideration. But… a werewolf was not a creature to be trifled with. One slash of those claws, and…

“There’s a cabin.” Her son said, pointing at a small log house. 

It looked desolated. There were no signs of habitation, the windows were dark, the oiled sheets of cloth used to cover them were hanging in shreds. There were no signs of animals the resident might be keeping, not even a dog. The roof was covered with moss, one side was visibly sunk in. 

“Look!” She whispered, gesturing at the porch; the wood had fresh claw marks on it. The doorframe had a russet stain, as if something covered in bloodied fur rubbed against it. The door was swung open, kept in place by just one hinge.

The whelp felt his blood pressure rise when mother crouched and cautiously crept up to the door. He dared not utter a word, but kept his weapon handy. The Dunmer peeked into the gloom of the cabin. Whatever was within, made her gasp and rush inside.

He followed, but halted the moment he passed the doorstep. Mother was kneeling next to a bulky figure, clad only in ragged and bloodied trousers. It was father.

“Farkas! Dear Gods, wake up!” She begged, shaking his shoulder. She had her short Akaviri sword in her other hand, but was visibly shaken.

The father of her children grunted dangerously predatorily, rising on his elbow. He took a deep whiff, looking up to peer into her frozen face. His upper lip retracted, exposing his teeth. His canines…

“Oh, no…” Was all she could utter, but gripped the handle firmer.

He grunted, snapping his jaw, but had no strength to attack. He fell to his side, his head rested on her laps. His breathing was raspy and irregular, he was whole covered in gore and sweat. He stank like a beast, and was as much dangerous.

Otho tensed during the whole scene, ready to act, but with relief he saw father was on the verge of passing out. He decided it was most wise to remain in place, but kept his weapon readied. Ma and da needed to talk.

Caye rested her hand on his graying head. His eye was half-shut, the white flushed with red. His pupil was large, the gray iris a thin ring.

“Caye…” He breathed, raising his palm. He didn’t strike, but put it on her lap, his nails were normal, there were crescents of dirt under them. Around his middle finger was a ring with a wolf head ornament.

“I need to know what happened.” She said, keeping stroking his hair, but not daring to risk and release her sword.

“I don’t remember much.” Farkas replied, frowning. Even his stubble was graying. Although he was over fifty, he was still in good shape, though not as fit as he was when he was thirty.

“Sinding.” She reminded, nodding at Otho to remain calm.

“He… I found him in the woods, close to the border with Whiterun. He… he had the blood. He didn’t put up a fight.” His eye widened, he turned his face to look at her. “He wanted me to finish him off.”

“But you couldn’t.” She guessed, her palm slid to his cheek. With a frown she noticed he needn’t war paint to have his eye sockets dark and hollow.

“No. That little girl he killed… He said she had a brown dress with a green blouse when he saw her. He was working the mill… it was a hot day. She tripped and grazed her knee. He smelled her blood, and…”

“You needn’t say more.” Caye felt her throat tight.

“Lanni had a dress like that, remember?” He suddenly asked. 

“I remember.” She nodded, forcing herself to keep it together. 

Lanni was their firstborn daughter. She was an adorable child who grew into a fine young lady. Dear Azura, if something like that would happen to her… Caye spent a lot of sleepless nights in fear of her children’s safety. That’s why she and Farkas made sure all their kids learned how to protect themselves as soon as they were mature enough.

“He regretted it. I could see guilt eat him from the inside. He said it was all because of a ring.” He paused to catch his breath. His wife remained silent, but she could have sworn the ring he had on his finger shone red in the gloom.

Otho felt he was being watched. Looking over his shoulder he saw several pairs of burning yellow eyes observing him from the dark. Wolves. A whole pack of them. He reached and closed the door, mindful of the broken hinge. The door creaked sinister, but closed. Father kept talking, but the youngster could hear snarls and whimpers from the outside.

“Hircine!” Father revealed, there was fear in his voice. “It was his cursed ring. I took it and spared Sinding’s life. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“You wanted to do the right thing.” She reassured. 

Alarmed, she also heard the animal noises from outside. Otho glanced at her quickly. He could think on his feet; he grabbed an old moldy dresser and pushed it towards the door.

“I thought it wouldn’t affect me, I was clean for so many hears… Caye, it took me over. I couldn’t help myself. I had to put it on, and… I raged. I can’t remember for how long. I woke up the next day covered in blood. I don’t know who it belonged to.”

“Don’t torture yourself…”

“It smelled human.” His voice shook, he swallowed loudly. “I had to find Sinding. I tracked him down to a cave. There were others, hunters. Hircine wanted a grand hunt…!” The warrior’s face was the image of pain.

Otho heard scraping against the door. The pack was drawing closer.

“I found Sinding. He was alone, cornered. I couldn’t let him die.” He groaned, the ring was now visibly glowing. “I became the beast. Together we hunted them down one by one, until the last of them fell. I… gnawed at some. I’m not proud of it, but it felt good. And then…” He fell silent.

“What happened?” Caye was still calm, although the story was grim.

“Sinding was wounded badly. He died. I messed up everything.” His breathing got deeper and louder. “And then I saw Him. Hircine. He laughed and opened his arms. I ran.”

She felt numb, remembering an excerpt from Kodlak’s journal she read several years ago. The previous Harbinger had nightmares of the doors of Sovngarde shutting before him and Hircine welcoming him with open arms on his Hunting Grounds.

She’d sooner turn Hircine’s realm into a wasteland, than allow the Lord of the Hunt to take her husband’s soul!

“Caye…” His voice got dangerously hoarse. “Run. Both of you run.”

With sudden vigor, he jerked away from her and crawled up to the wall. It seemed as if he wanted to melt with the logs. The wolves gathering around the cabin howled unison. But the sound that followed was what curdled their blood. The sound of a horn. The master of the hounds came to hunt himself.

“Incoming!” Otho was first to notice the beasts attack.

A wolf leaped over the window, tearing what was left of the oiled canvas curtain. The beast was larger than any normal wolf, white and almost transparent. The Dunmer immediately remembered the spectral wolves in Ysgramor’s tomb.

Another followed, landing with predatorily grace next to its mate. The two gnashed their ghostly teeth, first headed towards the elf, the other next to her love and child. 

“Back, wretch!” She screamed, throwing a ball of fire at the thing trying to grab her leg in its jaws.

The spectral animal whimpered, flames danced on its fur. Before it could counterattack, another ball of flame hit its opened maw. The specter delivered one final cry before dissolving into a puddle of ectoplasm. But that only added to their problems, as ectoplasm was highly flammable. The flames, instead of dying with the wolf, slithered in thin tendrils alongside the floor. 

“Not on my watch!” Otho swung his warhammer at the remaining wolf.

His weapon was of ordinary steel, however. It went through the beast as if it were thin air. The youngster was surprised and knocked off balance, but managed to keep his weapon in his grasp. The wolf snarled, ready to pounce him and rip his throat open.

Before that could happen, Farkas got to it. Somehow, he was able to get a hold of the animal. He hoisted it up and forcefully lowered onto his knee, breaking its spine. The wolf cried in pain, fading into mist and another puddle of goo.

The flames rose, feeding on the surrounding log floor and walls. The horn was heard again, shadows of the rest of the pack danced on the walls.

“Dad!” The lad called out, getting up on his feet.

Father was on his palms and knees, shaking his head like a stunned animal. He was fighting his beast… and obviously losing.

“Otho, get your mother and get out!” He managed to yell, his palms already started to change into clawed paws.

“Dad…” His son had a sudden strike of thought. “Where did Sinding die? What was the name of that cave?”

Their eyes met. Father’s whites already started blooming red, like a drop of blood on a fresh bedsheet. His teeth had no similarity to human anymore. 

“Bloated… Man’s… GRAAH!”

Farkas grunted, then joined the pack howling outside. There was the nauseating sound of ripping skin, as he grew and started covering in fur. This wasn’t him anymore. His joints got longer, his face stretched into a feral maw.

Meanwhile, Caye realized the scope of her mistake. They’re going to burn alive in here if the pack doesn’t rip them into shreds! She released her weapon and focused, frost spells weren’t her specialty. She strained, managing to conjure a blast of ice and cold which tamed the fires. She kept putting them out, growing hot and weary with each passing second.

The cabin was filled with choking smoke. There was a shift in the air, but it wasn’t another beast jumping in. It was something massive jumping out. A roar, yelp and inhuman, otherworldly laugh followed… then it was quiet.

The elf was grabbed from behind, but she hadn’t her sword at her side and was out of Magica. She reached to her hip for her dagger.

“It’s me!” Her son managed to say, before falling into a hacking cough. She couldn’t breathe either.

Otho blindly pulled her to where the door was and kicked the dresser obstructing it aside. The piece of furniture broke. He embraced mother tight, slamming his back against the door. The only working hinge broke, the two fell to the ground.

There was no one around the cabin. Only crickets and their panting spoiled the silence.

“Where is he?” She cried, shaking her son’s arms off. “Where is he?!” She shouted, her clenched fists were shaking.

Otho never saw her like this before. Well, maybe just once, when he and his brother were pups and did something incredibly stupid… But that was a different story.

“I think I know.” He said, putting his palm on her shoulder. “But first we need a horse and wagon.”


	5. Thunderstruck

They were in a hurry and had no gold. Mother’s circlet was the only valuable they could trade for a wagon with a durable horse. The gold and emeralds form the trinket would pay for more than just that, but they were desperate.

The blacksmith provided them with the information they needed. The cave father spoke of was called Bloated Man’s Grotto and was close to the northern bank of Lake Ilinata. They made haste, there was no telling where father was or what was he doing.

“There’s no guarantee we find him there.” Otho foretold grimly, keeping an eye out for bandits or some other scum.

“Yes, but we have no other lead.” Caye replied, her hands held the reins so hard they shook.

She was afraid. Afraid they’ll have to kill the man of her life to spare him an existence of madness and gore. Or that he will kill one of them, then end his life once the beast in him falls asleep and he realizes what he has done. She lost a lot of things in life, but her family she protected with every fiber of her existence. And so did Farkas.

Her fear slowly gave in to righteous rage. Hircine will have to pry her husband form her cold stiff hands if he wants him that bad! She killed dragons and ate their souls, she killed Alduin and she’s not backing down, even to a Daedra Prince!

She remembered a scene from many years ago. She had no idea why, but it suddenly bloomed before her eyes

_It was summer, midday. She was busy harvesting lavender for a potion. She had a modest garden at the back of their house, with plants the law permitted to grow. Lanni was playing with her cousins, Arno was gone somewhere as usual. Otho was sitting on a chopping block, busy carving a piece of firewood. He was always interested in all sorts of crafts, both his parents encouraged him to explore his talents._

_The sun was unusually strong that day, his palms quickly got sweaty. He worked the piece of wood with all the patience and precision an eight-year-old could muster. The small blade he was entrusted with was dull and short, fit only for carving soft wood. But still, just one slip of his hand, and…_

_Caye turned her head from her plants the moment she heard a heart-ripping cry. Otho clutched his palm, kicking away the knife and wood block in fury. Blood slipped from between his fingers. She wheezed, tossing aside the scythe and basket. But before she could run to her baby and crush in her overprotective embrace, the window opened and Farkas stuck his head out._

_“What’s the noise?” He asked, seeing the scene. “You’re being skinned alive there, boy?”_

_“Daaa!” Otho sobbed. “I cut myself!”_

_“Well, did you slice your hand off or lose a finger?” His father raised a brow._

_“No!” Otho stopped crying, feeling offended instead._

_“Get over here and show me.”_

_The child pouted, walking up to the window and outstretching his hand. Farkas reached over the window and examined the cut. It wasn’t anything serious, the boy probably wouldn’t even have a scar. The father sighed, ruffling his boy’s hair._

_“Well, now you know you’ll be more careful in the future, right?”_

_“Uh-oh.” Otho agreed, looking up at the huge man that was his father._

_“Get inside and I’ll get you a bandage.”_

_The child nodded and trotted around the house. In the meantime Caye walked up to the window, leaning nonchalantly against the wall._

_“If we’re calm they’re calm.” Farkas said with a wink._

_“Oh, like you know it all!” She puffed, embarrassed of her own hysterical reaction._

Hours passed, the horse’s sides covered in foamy sweat. The cave was close, as Otho consulted his map. After a few more hours, when the sun was setting they reached the entrance to the cave. It reeked. The smell was of blood and urine. And also faint musk. Close to the entrance were fresh footprints. Foot, not paw. He was here.

The youngster took a coil of decent chain they got in Falkreath. Caye lit a torch. The plan was to do everything to have Farkas beaten into submission, then tie him up and take to Whiterun, where he could be cleansed by the priests of Kynareth. The goddess of sky and air was Hircine’s sworn adversary. 

And if that doesn’t help, she had one last Glenmoril Witch head stashed in her most secure safe, next to Goldenglow bill of sale and a number of sensitive documentation and letters. She kept it for so many years just in case, though the shriveled thing disgusted her. 

They passed a dark and winding corridor and then found themselves standing in the middle of a glade. A waterfall was heard somewhere nearby. An owl flew by with a loud hoot. Although they were supposed to be in a cave, the sky was unobstructed. It was blood red, but not as much as the moon shining with bloody resonance.

“I don’t recognize those stars. And that moon…” The lad shook his head, gazing into the sky.

“We’re in Hircine’s realm. That’s the Bloodmoon.” Mother explained, growing anxious. They were on unfamiliar ground, the terrain was perfect for a predator to stalk and ambush them. This was… a perfect hunting ground.

An abandoned camp was nearby. They approached with caution. There was a torn and bloodied bedroll next to which lied a decomposed corpse. A Khajiit. Undoubtedly, it was one of the hunters sent after Sinding. The cat’s weapon was laying close, inches away from the corpse’s outstretched arm. The Khajiit was laying face-down, chunks of flesh were missing around its lower back and thighs. The spine was picked clean, disturbingly white in the red light.

“This isn’t where he’d strike.” Otho said after a moment of examination. “It’s too obvious. We need to push on further and act as he’d expect prey to act.”

Caye nodded with approval. However grim his thinking was, her son was intelligent. They passed the cat, proceeding deeper into the hunting grounds.

As they advanced, they found more and more bodies and body parts hectically thrown on the grass, in the trees, into the streams. The place stunk, since most of them were severely rotten. Not even the most desperate scavenger would feast on them.

“Repulsive.” Caye gasped, covering her mouth. She knew her love did all this carnage, she just couldn’t accept it. He was always the master of himself, not the beast’s slave. But this was Hircine’s game and it wasn’t fair.

The path rose, carrying them on top of a hill piercing the roof of treetops. They could see the hunting grounds from above. There was no horizon in the far distance, only blood colored mist, constantly boiling with crimson.

There was another body, but this one was different. It was neatly laid down on a bear fur. It was severely damaged, but the wounds came from weapons not claws or teeth.

“This is Sinding.” Caye guessed, peering into the dead man’s face.

He was still in good shape, perhaps it was a matter of the werewolf blood or Hircine’s whim. Sinding was… unassuming. Slim and short with receding blond hair and a face bearing nothing remarkable. It was hard to believe he could have torn a child into bits with little effort.

“I didn’t want him to lay in the mud with the rest of them.” They heard.

“Dear Azura…” The elf uttered, turning her head to where the voice was heard.

Farkas was at his limits. He was fighting with all the shreds of will he had, but his struggle was hopeless. His hands and feet were that of a wolf, the rest of him was still human. The cursed ring was shining like a beacon of red, his wedding ring hung from the chain around his neck.

“Finish me off, love.” He begged, his eyes were hollow. “Please, I don’t want to do anything to either of you.”

“No, damn it!” She screamed. Otho unwillingly shook, he wasn’t used to mother screaming. “I’ll cut your limbs off if I have to, but you’re not leaving me!”

“Otho…” Father turned to him, tears streamed down his cheeks. “Please, I’m begging. I can’t take thins anymore.”

“Dad.” The son stepped forward. “I love you.”

Before anyone could do anything, he grabbed his weapon and hit father’s knee. Farkas tripped and howled, the kneecap shattered. The half elf had no time to think, he trusted his instincts. He jumped father and took a good grab of his throat, pinning to the ground. Farkas tried to fight, but a good punch straight at the chin stunned him good.

“The ring!” The son yelled.

Caye snapped out of the numbness that took her over when she saw the men she loved so much fighting. She leaped to them and grabbed her love’s hand. Though she tried as best as she could, the cursed ring would not come off.

The moment she struggled with it was enough for Farkas to regain his integrity. He growled, reaching with his clawed hand to Otho’s eyes. The lad bend back, his father clutched the lad’s shoulder instead. Otho screamed, feeling father’s claws cut his skin, reaching deep into his flesh.

Caye screamed hysterically. She sprang up and kicked her husband in the head, aiming at the temple. The knowledge where to hit was part of her training. He yelped, losing consciousness and going numb, his mouth dripped foamy saliva.

“Tie him up.” She whispered, almost breaking into tears. “We’re getting him out of here. Do you need help with that?” She asked, seeing the cuts around her baby’s arm.

“No, he didn’t hit any artery and there is no time to bother.”

As best as he could, the whelp bound his sire with the chains. Mother went first, he followed carrying father on his back. He couldn’t believe how the man who he always considered the strongest and brawniest man on Skyirm, felt so light.

They made haste, passing the bodies and exited the cavern, hoping to see the sky they were used to. They were greeted with the familiar stars, but Secunda was glowing blood red. Hircine wasn’t giving up. 

“Are we on Mundus, or still in his realm?” Otho blinked in disbelief, feeling cold sweat on his back.

Before mother could answer, a horn called for a hunt. The two looked at each other, eyes wide with fear. Without any words, Otho tossed still unconscious father on the wagon and crouched near him, Caye jumped on the front of the carriage and yelled at the horse to run. The animal screamed, also feeling the unnatural tremor known only to prey.

They rode as fast as the horse could carry them, trees became blurs. The road was bumpy, Farkas’ head bounced and hit the wooden floor. He was numb, Otho feared whether he was alive. He reached to the side of his neck to feel a pulse. It was there, but barely.

Suddenly, father opened his eyes. But those weren’t the eyes of a man. The lad was quick enough to take his hand back, before he could lose his fingers between the sharp teeth that Farkas grew in a blink of an eye.

“He’s conscious!” Otho shouted, struggling away from his tossing and jumping parent.

The horn and a howls were heard from far behind; the chase was gaining on them. Caye had no idea of what to do. They could only run, hoping to lose the chase, but the horse was mundane, unlike the beasts. She could feel her spine tingle; the wolves were getting closer and closer. She could hear them as well, their panting and snarling. What to do?!

She looked over her shoulder, trusting that the horse, though scared out of its mind, will keep on a straight course. Otho fought his father, who was more and more monstrous with each second. His transformation was in slow motion, like in a nightmare. And all she could do was watch, she couldn’t release the reins. 

She screamed, seeing the pack chasing them. At least a dozen of wolves, and in the middle of them a gigantic white stag, whose rider was Him. Hircine. The Father of Moonbeasts wielded a spear, his head was a flaming skull of a deer with antlers as wide as they were sharp. His broad chest was smeared with bloody symbols she couldn’t, and didn’t want to identify. Over his neck was pulled a strap of teeth, with his horn, dark and glossy bouncing off his chest.

Running was pointless. Stopping to fight was suicide. But she refused to give into despair. She made a promise to never display her unique abilities in front of her children, but this was a matter of life and death. She dared Hircine straight in the burning red eyes that glared at her from inside of the skull. She took a deep breath, her face was a mask of fury.

“STRUN BAH QO!” She shouted.

The red sky darkened, the Bloodmoon disappeared behind a thick blanket of clouds. Thunder, like her righteous anger, shot from the sky hitting the closest wolf.

“Dovahkiin.” She heard in her head. “Your tricks won’t save you.”

“THEY’RE MINE!!” She shouted from the top of her lungs.

“You will make an excellent trophy.” Hircine laughed madly. “I will personally cut your head off whilst my hounds pull your intestines out.”

The petite elven woman took her sword in her hand. But she knew better than attack a Daedra with mere steel. Thunder illuminated them blue, her blade glowed like a sliver of lightning itself. She was more preoccupied with the turmoil at the back of the wagon, Hircine will have to wait for his turn.

Otho banged his head against the side of the carriage. He rolled away just in time; where his head was a second ago father’s claws dug into. He knew his weapon was useless; on top of a wagon riding full speed he had neither berth nor balance to use it. He had only his fists. With the corner of his eye he caught the hunter chasing them. Gods, that… monster! That was…!

Farkas caught him off guard and overpowered, the whelp was fortunate to punch his stomach before getting slashed. He heard thunder again, the thunderstorm begun right after mother… shouted something. Semiconsciously he could tell apart three words, but their essence eluded him.

This wasn’t time for thinking about it, he had to keep squirming away and dodging. This wasn’t dad anymore, he was against a monster. Something plunged into the wood of the floor; mother’s sword.

“It’s all I can do!” She yelled, turning her head to the road.

Two large wolves were on both sides of the horse. The equine screamed when they bit into the sides of its neck, but it kept running blood dripped from its wounds like ribbons. Sun and stars, no! She felt rage empower her palm when she struck the one of the left with a fireball. The horse was bleeding bad, but still had enough fear to push on forward. That was when the wagon rode straight into water.

Otho grabbed the blade, but froze. There was not enough room to keep dodging, he had to use it. His stomach did a flip, when he realized he’ll have to slash or stab his dad, see him in pain, watch him die…

The wagon rode straight into water and all three of them flew over the struggling horse and submersed in water. Caye bobbed up first, the bottom wasn’t that far. Azura, with all the panic she hadn’t noticed they rode south, not north and were now in Lake Ilinata! 

Lightning raced across the clouds, on the shore Hircine and his loyal beasts observed their prey. The horse was drowning, too weak from the blood loss to keep above water. That, and the wagon was pulling it under the surface. There was nothing that could be done for the poor, stupid thing.

Otho resurfaced, still holding the sword’s handle, though the weapon seemed lighter. Damn their luck! It broke, there were barely three inches of blade left. How?! He remembered hitting the water and the sword jamming between some rocks underwater. He knew he was as good as dead without it, so he struggled trying to break it loose. Where was his warhammer? Lost, since it was on the wagon and was now probably somewhere on the bottom of the lake.

“Otho! Come here!” He heard mother calling out for him.

She was on a small patch of dry land a few yards away from the shore. Soaking wet, she had what little flames she could conjure with her remaining strength. The lad struggled with the rocky bottom to get to her, but that was when behind him a fully transformed werewolf emerged from the lake and slashed his back, one of his claws cutting the skin on his nape.

He gasped, falling to his knees and for a second disappearing under the water. Caye screamed, ready to rush into the lake herself and die a foolish death, but seeing him resurface and push towards her kept her in place. The wolves risked and entered the body of water, those were her targets. With what little power she had left, she used fire to eliminate them one by one.

Hircine just stared, his mount cried in a frenzy.

Her son crawled to the small island, behind him his father snarled and roared. Otho bled, but given that he was also completely drenched he didn’t know how bad his bleeding was. Farkas grabbed him by the ankle and forced to roll over. Their eyes locked. Father was gone. And so was Otho’s defiance.

Whilst mother was busy shooting flames at the wolves, the two of them fought. The youngster still had the useless sword in his hand, so he hit father between the eyes with the tip of the handle, the werewolf groaned staggering, which gave the half-elf enough time to crawl from under him. But he had no intention of running. 

He jumped on the beast and used the thick chain it wore over its neck as reins. Farkas bucked and tried to shake him off, but Otho had his thighs firmly on the werewolf’s back. He hit farther with the handle again and again, aiming at the weak spot between the neck and skull. Though the beast tried to get him off, the lad was tenacious.

Caye felt she was losing her strength, when magica was out, the caster usually resolved to their own life force to power spells. And that was exactly what she was doing now. Blood slipped from her nose, her vision began to blur. But she wouldn’t allow herself to cease casting fireballs at the approaching predators.

Otho faintly realized that his chestpiece got warm and slippery from the blood seeping down his neck. He had little time. He hit his sire again, hearing the disgusting sound of metal gridding against bone. Farkas went numb with his boy on top of him. Otho released the chain, instead reaching for the werewolf’s wrist. He pinned it to the soft ground and raised the broken sword, aiming at the finger with the cursed ring.

He struck with all the strength he had remaining. A scream scared birds sleeping in the trees not far from the lake. But it was a man’s scream, not beasts. Hircine howled, his mount stood on its hind legs. The moment Farkas lost his finger, lightning struck at the surface of the lake, killing the rest of the wolf pack.

Caye had no power left, she staggered back, falling on her rump. The wolves were gone, but Hircine remained. The Daedra reached out his clawed hand, spreading his long fingers. He wanted a tribute.

“This is all you will get from us!” Otho yelled, throwing his father’s finger with the cursed ring at the Lord of the Hunt, as if he was throwing a copper coin at a foul beggar. 

Hircine caught his trophy and raised his spear. The Forrest responded with howls, roars and cries of all the denizens that dwelled within. Thick cloud covered the Bloodmoon, for a moment the entire scene was pitch-black. And when the clouds passed, the moon was normal again and Hircine was gone.

The lad spat, but had no strength and his saliva hung from his chin. Caye struggled and crawled to him.

“Ma…” He stuttered, losing consciousness.

“Shh…” She caressed his nape, making one final effort to heal his cut. 

Farkas, dear Azura, he lost a finger, but he was alright, human again. She had to get to him and heal his hand before it gets infected. She had to make this one final effort. She… Followed her boy into nothingness.


	6. Over the Hills and Far Away

It was dawn. The first rays of the sun pierced the cloudy sky, dimly illuminating Caye’s face. She blinked and got up with a gasp. Otho! Farkas! Thank the stars, her baby was safe, laying motionlessly next to her. She felt a faint pulse, he was okay. She flipped him to a safer position and approached her love with caution, still on her knees as she was too feeble to walk yet.

His hand was covered with bloody crust. His ring finger was gone, the cut was precise, though. It needed cleaning before she tries to heal it. The very thought of using magic made her gut do a spin, she pushed herself too far.

She brushed his dirty graying hair off his face. She frowned seeing how he had aged over the years. She remembered how he had looked when he was thirty, not fifty. Time, children and everyday hardships took some of his youthful vigor, but he didn’t complain. He never complained. 

But the weeks he spent in a fit of bloody rage took their toll on him. He will need time to get back to his old self. Because that he will eventually overcome the horror of being Hircine’s plaything went without saying.

She set her eyes on his wedding ring. Neither of them wore their rings, instead having them on a more comfortable chain. His chest calmly rose and sunk, he was going to be fine. She’ll make sure of it. She had to do a few things first.

Caye managed to stand up and take a good look around. She could see the bloated belly of the horse far away from the isle. The water around gushed and stirred as it if were boiling. That could only mean one thing; slaughterfish. They will soon pick it clean, leaving only bones. The wagon must have been somewhere nearby, but it was completely submersed and it would be impossible to pull out.

Kicking her boots off, the Dunmer entered the lake. The water was cold, her shins felt like she was hit. Good. She splashed her face, thinking over what to do next. It was a long hike back to Whiterun. To Oblivion with Falkreath’s Jarl, she’ll send letters once they get back home. She wished she had a small pot or pan, she needed to somehow heat the water to clean the wound…

She sensed she wasn’t alone. Only the dagger on her hip… She spun around, brandishing her blade, ready for anything. 

Farkas stood at a safe distance, he had a slight limp. He looked tired, but there was no trace of bestial influence over him. For a longer moment they just gazed at each other, both in a mess and incredibly exhausted after the night of horrors.

“I hope I didn’t scare you.” He finally said, with a faint grin.

That! What he just said! Those were the exact words he said over twenty years ago, when she saw him as a werewolf for the first time!

“Was that supposed to be funny?!!” She screeched, picking up a large lump of mud and throwing at him with fury.

Otho jerked and jolted, but had no strength to stand. He heard a scream… Mom! He looked to where it came from only to see his mother reviling father with words he never expected her to know. She interjectionally threatened him with divorce and physical violence before falling into a loud cry. Father patiently withstood her anger, then gently embraced her, stroking her hair. 

\---

The Harbinger sealed the lie-ridden letter to the Jarl of Falkreath. The official story was that the predator terrorizing the hold found and killed Sinding, then was slain by Farkas, who was hurt badly and needed to be transported to Whiterun immediately. The truth would only complicate things and leave room for a lot of uncomfortable questions.

She put it aside, rubbing her temples. It was a week after they got home. Their first stop was the Temple of Kynareth. Unsurprisingly, news got to her brother-in-law in a moment. He hobbled on his crutches to the temple and demanded the only person to treat his brother is a member of the family. Ilsa proved to be a talented healer and took care of all the physical wounds her uncle had.

Farkas spent two days and one night on observation, but there was nothing spiritually wrong with him. He was still recovering from his injuries and the trauma, but he was human. It was over and he could get back home.

He spent most of his time sleeping, or relaxing either in the Cloud District near the sacred tree or at the training yard. He had a few bad dreams, but overall he got his sleep. That was a good sign. He ate and drank little, and that was what unsettled Caye the most.

She stretched her back, did a few arm swings, then finally acknowledged she wasn’t alone in the room. Vilkas waited at the doorframe for her to invite him in.

“Yes, now is the time for us to have this talk.” She sighed, gesturing him to enter.

He cautiously rested his crutches next to the small round table at the corner of the room. The one she saw him at for the very first time, when he had a talk with Kodlak. She had no will nor need to dwell on how long ago that was. She got up from her desk and joined her brother-in-law at the table. He already poured themselves some spirits.

“Farkas told me everything.” He said drily. He wanted to know the whole story immediately, but after seeing the look on his brother’s face, he agreed to wait for a better time. “But I want you to fill in the blanks.”

He restrained himself from any comments the whole time the elf spun her tale. When she was done, he shook his head. It was obvious he was pained he wasn’t there, when his sibling needed him the most. But maybe it was for the best? No telling what would happen if he were to be with them.

“I was in Skjor’s old room.” He revealed, after they both took a moment to savor their drinks. “I got a hold of his old books. I think you know which.”

The Dunmer knew that well. Both Skjor and Kodlak had an obsession with gathering information on werewolf lore. Both for their own reasons; Kodlak wanted to pure himself, Skjor wanted to better understand his blessing. It was from those books that Aela learned about Hircine’s totems, which Caye in her foolishness helped her gather. They were still hidden safely in the Underforge… But none of the Circle, with exception of Aela, had ventured there for years. 

“And?” Caye urged, after the silence continued for far too long.

“The ring. Hircine’s cursed artifact… It only works on werewolves, or those who were born into the blood of the beast.”

“Then…”

“It proves nothing!”He protested louder than he intended to. “Only that at least one of our parents had the blood. That is all.” He added quieter.

“Which has been passed down to our children… all five of them.” She diverted the conversation from the topic of Jergen.

“Mine have it worse. Aela comes from a long line of lycanthropes. Our daughters will soon reach puberty…” Vilkas hunched his shoulders. “I dread the day…” He swirled his cup around, staring into the last drops of drink within. “Have I ever told you my brother was a fat kid?”

“Pardon?” She blinked surprised by this sudden revelation.

“Farkas was fat as a kid.” Her brother-in-law smiled wearily, his memory went back. “He was always big, but his childhood was spent on as much eating as training.”

“My…” Caye laid back, imagining her love as a plump young boy.

“Then he hit puberty and started growing fast. Insanely fast. He gained muscle with little effort… I had to sacrifice a lot to keep up with him… Well, you see how that went.” He jokingly flexed his biceps. He was the slimmer of the two.

“Why are you telling me this?” The Dunmer questioned. Vilkas hadn’t a sentimental nature, there must be more to this sudden wave of reminiscence.

“We were as much surprised with the true nature of the Circle as you were once.” He continued, ignoring her question.

“You didn’t know?”

“No. Aela did, she grew up knowing their true nature. But we were kept in the dark.”

“When did you learn, then?”

“When Farkas almost ripped my throat open.” He revealed bitterly.

There was grave silence in the room. Rushing him wouldn’t help, he had to reach to a dark place in his mind to retrieve a memory that was as old as it was traumatizing.

“Like I said, we didn’t know. We grew up oblivious just how different we were. One night we were alone in the living quarters. My brother has been feeling ill, so I stayed with him, thinking he just had an upset stomach. Then he… Well, you know what happens during a transformation.” He paused, still staring into his cup.

Caye took it from his hand and poured him another drink. She could see where the story was going.

“He jumped me, overpowered, cut my shoulder and upper arm.” He continued, accepting the drink. His hand didn’t shake, neither did his voice. “I have scars to this day. Don’t ask me to show.”

“I’ll take your word for it.” She said respectfully.

“My training paid off and I managed to counterattack and squirm from under him. Skjor heard me scream and rushed into the room. He never hesitated to act, so he leapt to my brother and beat him up into a whimpering sack of fur. I tried to separate them, he knocked me out without any effort.” He took a moment to wet his dried throat. “Then came Kodlak. The two of them talked as if they expected this to happen. Skjor tied my brother up and took him into the wilds, so that Farkas could have his first rampage. He came back over a week later, covered in mud and blood. He refused any comment.”

“And you?”

“I stayed. I knew I’d get another beating if I tried to go with my brother. Kodlak took me to his study, took care of my cuts and explained things. I learned that during infancy we were fed the Circle members’ blood along with regular nursing. Up to now I believed that was our only contact with lycanthropy. But that blasted ring sets things into different perspective…”

“No words come to my mind. I… thank you for sharing this.” She said quietly, knowing this wasn’t all her brother-in-law had to say.

“From that night forward, he always feared he might lose control and kill someone. He ran from me the first time we faced each other after the incident. He suffered. Maybe I was merciless, but I had no respect for his pain. I knew if I left him alone his conscience would eat him whole. So, I kept shoving myself into his face, not allowing him a moment of privacy, to wallow in loathe in misery.”

“We both know mercy has more than one shade.” The elf narrowed her eyes. Sometimes, one had to be cruel in order to do what is best for their loved ones. Sometimes love was harsh.

“Indeed. A few months later I underwent the transformation myself. It came sudden and I acted without thinking; I ran into the Underforge and as far away from Whiterun as possible. When I came back I felt Farkas stopped fearing he might attack me again, knowing we were both equals again. Things got back to normal between us. Amusingly, Aela was the last to hear the blood call. I now watch our daughters carefully…”

“I dare not assume how you feel.”

“No parent should be going through something like this. I assume your boy did good?” He changed the subject before the two of them got too weepy.

“Better than good.” Caye said with pride. Otho wasn’t a boy anymore. He was an adult.

“When do you plan the ceremony?”

“Soon, but not after we’ve all shaken it off. I want it to be a happy moment for him.” 

“Of course. Now, do you have your cards around here somewhere? I need a distraction.”

\---

“Slacking off?”

“I earn my brakes, da.” Otho sat next to his father at the bench in front of the temple. “Mom’s sword took forever to reforge. I’m still not pleased with it. But I owe her that blade.”

“And you owe me a finger.” Farkas joked, presenting his hand. Ilsa did her best and the stump was clean and healed. 

“I’m sorry, da.” Otho frowned. “But I had no choice.” He added with no trace of guilt.

“I don’t blame you. You protected your mother and yourself. As anyone would.” His sire approved.

The tree at the center of the park was blooming, the petals littered the pavement and rooftops. The smell was fresh, relaxing. Perfect for a bit of conversation.

“Da… We haven’t talked about what happened. Shouldn’t we?”

“We should.” He agreed. He was never good with words, so he skipped the unnecessary nonsense and bluntly got to the point. “I was always afraid of exactly all the things that happened in Falkreath. I always feared the wolf in me could take over and I’ll kill someone.”

“That must have been difficult to bear for so many years.”

“It was. The first time I had the beast take me over I… attacked your uncle. He’s alive and kicking, so you can guess I didn’t do him any permanent damage… But there was blood. He has scars. Just like you… Ever since, I was afraid I’ll suddenly snap. That made life difficult…”

He bent back on the bench and stared at the sun shining through the tree’s flowery branches. From this perspective his past seemed so distant… and dark.

“I learned to cope. It took a lot of restraint, but I never had another incident. You have no idea how relieved I felt when my brother had his first rampage.”

“That brought you close.” Otho noted. He and his own twin weren’t as close as father and uncle.

“Sure did. We trained, fought and hunted together. Eventually, we joined the Circle.”

“Just how difficult did that make interacting with other people?” Otho questioned.

“With other Companions? Not much. With other people? A lot.” He admitted reluctantly.

He had an opinion of being slow and gruff, and he didn’t bother. It was actually a good thing, people stirred clear of him. Those who got to know him better were other fighters. Fighters could handle themselves. They teased, sometimes pushed him over, but they weren’t afraid of him. Yet, sometimes he missed companionship outside of Jorrvaskr.

“Do you know why I married your mother?” He asked out of the blue.

“I… No.” Otho replied, surprised about father touching such a personal subject.

“She wasn’t afraid of me. Even though she’s so small, not even half my weight, she never felt intimidated by me.”

The half-elf said nothing, though immediately thought that maybe the reason for this was that mother could set father ablaze with the snap of her fingers. But she’d never do that. Just as father would never use brute force against her. 

“Mother knows nothing of fear.” He commented.

“Nonsense. She was afraid a lot. Mostly about you and your sibling’s safety. She’s your mother, after all.” He scolded his boy. 

“Sorry.”

“I was her forebear when it was her proving, you know. At first I thought she was uptight. You know how she can be when on business…” He grinned embarrassed, rubbing the back of his head. “We went to an old ruin to get an artifact back. Simple job at first. But then we got ambushed by people who made a living off killing werewolves. The Silver Hand, they called themselves. Despite the name they were your regular thugs. We got outnumbered and I had no choice. ”

“And you turned.” Otho guessed.

“It was this or die. And after it was over, she wasn’t scared at all. She wasn’t stupid, she was ready to defend herself, but she was calm. That was something new.”

“I’m not sure I follow.”

“Son, you’re an adult. You well know before your mother and I bonded, we met other people. I’ve been with other lasses. Things usually started off slow, but eventually came that crucial point when everything went downhill. I don’t know why, maybe I should have talked more. Maybe they expected me to be someone else… But there always came a time when they started to fear me. As if I was going to suddenly turn violent and hurt them.”

“You, da?” Otho was shocked. Father was one of the calmest people he ever met!

“It’s women we’re talking about, laddie. They think and feel different. And different things scare them. I was never surprised when they had that look. Like they wondered if I’d hit them when they finally dared to tell me it’s over.”

“What did you do then?”

“Ended it myself and left as fast as I could, so I wouldn’t make them more uncomfortable. What I’m trying to say is that your mother was never afraid to lay next to me. And it hadn’t changed, even though my worst fear came true.”

Otho knew it was his father’s way of saying ‘everything is going to be alright’. And he believed him. 

“I’m glad, da. Listen, there’s something I wanted to tell you…” He found the courage to speak of his plans. “I think I should move out, so you and ma could have some privacy. It’s no secret I’ll be accepted, so I can live in Jorrvaskr.”

“Don’t be stupid!” Farkas rebuffed, truly angered. “We’re not kicking you out of your own home!”

“Yes, but…” Otho fell silent. He didn’t want his true motives to hurt da’s feelings.

“But I’m getting old. I know.” Father read him like a book.

“Da, I didn’t meant to…!”

“Otho, this is a good moment as any to have the lifespan talk.” The man comforted. “I’m aging. I’ll have twenty more years at best, I’m not fooling myself. And I won’t peacefully live my final years, so I can die in bed and have your mother find me dead in the morning.” He set his eyes on his son’s red irises. “I won’t go down quietly. I’ll die a warrior’s death. She knows that. And she understands.”

“I can’t believe how calm you’re talking about your own death.”

“Well, suck it up, because you’re a man now. Or am I wrong?”

“No!” He protested with fire.

“Good. And when my body is brought back to Jorrvaskr to be burned, I want to know there’s someone at her side. And that someone is you, kiddo.”

“I… Sure thing, da.” The son nodded. Now did he realize what a torture it would be for his mother to live alone in a big empty house after father… Gods, how selfish it was of him to even consider leaving her alone.

“Though, I wouldn’t mind if you went out in the evenings, so the two of us could have some privacy. I want to enjoy what little time we have left.” Da joked. Or perhaps not.

“Da… gross.” The youngster uttered, appalled by the image of his parents intimate. “I should get back to work, I’ll see you home.” He said, getting up. 

“See you, son.”


End file.
